


The Story of Karachi

by Jane_Sand



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: A Scandal In Belgravia, Adlock, Arthur Conan Doyle Canon References, Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, F/M, Irene Adler - Freeform, Irene's backstory, Karachi Islamabad Pakistan, Lara Pulver - Freeform, Scandal in Bohemia, Sex, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock rescues Irene, Sherlock's First Time, The Woman - Freeform, What happened after Sherlock rescued Irene, explicit - Freeform, shirene, shower
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 21:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16457204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_Sand/pseuds/Jane_Sand
Summary: What we didn't get to see in A Scandal in Belgravia. Sherlock rescues Irene and they share a night together in Karachi, Islamabad. It's full of references to the original episode and to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original characters. It's not finished yet. Please read the notes :) <3





	The Story of Karachi

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter is very explicit, so if you feel somewhat uncomfortable while reading stuff like this, don't read it. It's also inspired on something Benedict Cumberbatch said during an interview, and other things Steven Moffat stated as well. This is my first time publishing a fanfic here, and English isn't my first language so I'm very nervous about posting this. It's NOT finished yet, but it will be... hopefully very soon. Let me know if you enjoyed it, I really hope that you do. Feedback is very, very appreciated :) I try to keep them in character. And to all of you Sherlolly fans out there: I also love those two together, but I felt curious about what happened after Sherlock saved Irene. I really like their chemistry throughout the episode. I'm also working on a non-sexual-fic about The Aluminium Crutch (spoilers, spoilers: Molly is Sherlock's sidekick!), and another one with Soo Lin Yao from The Blind Banker. I'll shut up now. Enjoy :)

“When I say ‘run’, run,” he told her, disguised as an Arabian knight. 

Everything that happened in the following minutes was blurry, and bloody. Particularly bloody. Sherlock and Irene ran as he hacked up the terrorists with a sharp scimitar. Once there were no more of them (in sight), they got into a car that had been waiting. All the while, in spite of the situation they were going through, Irene couldn’t erase the smile of her face. A few moments ago, she was thinking it was the end, that there was no escape. Goodnight, Vienna. The last thing she did was to text him, “Goodbye, Mr. Holmes”. Then, she had closed her eyes, waiting for her unavoidable fate. The sound of a woman’s moan made her look up to her executioner. He had come to save her. This man, this ridiculously arrogant and clever man whom she had tried to fool, had come to her rescue. They had both tried to fool each other, pretending they were just playing the game. Trying to remain cold, distant, unaffected. But in the end, it was clear that they had feelings. They were both in the losing side of those who have sentiment. 

The car stopped in front of a motel, in an area far from the city’s center. Sherlock paid the driver and they got off. They hadn’t exchange a word during the ride. It all have happened so fast that they could barely understand what was going on. Irene couldn’t believe that she was alive, and that she had been rescued by her favorite consulting detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Life was full of twists: one day a dominatrix, the next one a damsel in distress.

Once they entered the room, she pulled down her hijab and flashed him a smile. Sherlock removed his disguise, and Irene was a little disappointed when she saw that he was wearing clothes underneath. 

“Why?” she asked him, referring to why did he save her.

“Your flight to South America leaves at six thirty. You’re going to fake your own death, again, and start fresh. Everything has already been arranged,” he explained, his deep and sultry voice trying to sound sharp and emotionless. 

The Woman looked around the place and then her eyes fell on the bed. Not too shabby. She was used to luxury and amenities, but she could definitely make an exception for her detective friend. 

Irene sat on the bed and began stroking the blanket suggestively.

“Why did you save me?” she repeated, unable to hide the smile. She wanted to hear him say it, that he cared, that he had sentiment and feelings for her. Irene wanted to break Sherlock before having him.

Obviously, he knew what she was doing. Sherlock didn’t want to give himself away so easily, although he had already did, when he flew all the way from London to Islamabad to rescue her. But they were both too proud to let themselves lose in this silly game of power that they had going on.

“‘Goodbye Mr. Holmes’, a little corny, don’t you think?” he refuted, quoting her text message while he read it on his phone. 

Irene let out an elegant and short laugh. He was playing the game, and he was good. Nevertheless, it was true: the last thing she decided to do before being executed was to text him goodbye. In her defense, she thought she was going to die. A little sentiment was allowed at times like those, wasn’t it?

“Mr. Holmes… I have so many questions, like how did you track me all the way up to Pakistan… but I have to admit I’m particularly intrigued about how you’re so good with the scimitar.” Without further ado, Irene just began flirting with him or, like always, at him. Because Sherlock never flirted back.

“I just am.” He replied, haughtily. Then, he lifted his eyebrows. “So, you must be exhausted due to all the running from Islamic assassins. You already know your flight schedule; the same car that brought us here tonight will be waiting for you outside. You can trust that man, he was a client once. Take care, Miss Adler.” 

Sherlock was about to open the door when she got up the bed.

“Oh, no, no, no… did you really think I would let you go without saying thank you? How rude of me would that be… you saved my life, after all.” The Woman spoke while she approached him, slowly but determined, until she cornered him against the wall. Her voice and her mannerisms overflowing sensuality everywhere.

“Please don’t say ‘let’s have dinner’, it’s getting boring. If you really want to thank me, you could consider stop getting in trouble” he said, in a very deep, velvety voice. Irene only grinned while she narrowed the distance between them.

“But I like to misbehave” she replied, alluringly, making a little bit of a sexy pout.

“You’ll have to be more careful, then.” Sherlock was fighting her, trying to resist all her charms. It only turned her on even more. She would have to tame him, until he begged for mercy, twice.

“Are you suggesting that I’m not careful enough, detective?” Her voice was soft, just like her hand stroking his forearm. Sherlock let out a little pant when he felt her skin on his.

“Yes, because like I told you before, you let your heart rule your head. And you should never let that happen. Isn’t the fact that we’re in South Asia a reliable proof of your inadvertence?” 

He was trying so hard to appear unaffected that it was ridiculous. The Woman smiled cheekily and moved her fingers until they were pressed against his wrist. She was taking his pulse this time. It was elevated, and Irene didn’t forget to check his pupils: clearly dilated. Yes, he definitely wanted her just as much as she did. 

“And… just for curiosity, Mr. Holmes, isn’t the fact that you came all the way from London to save my life a reliable proof that you do have a heart after all?” 

When he didn’t answer right away, Irene let out a little triumphant chuckle. She moved her hands until they reached the first button of his black shirt (from the top), and began playing with it, without actually unbuttoning it. 

Sherlock’s chest began heaving, and his breathing became loudly. Irene pressed herself against him a little more, and she could feel his arousal in his pants. When he realized that she could notice how turned on he was, Sherlock blushed and tried to look away from her, blushing even more for blushing in the first place. Not being in control was hateful. His jaw clenched and The Woman brushed it with her fingers.

“You are a scientist, aren’t you? Apart from a detective” she asked, all of the sudden, still tightly pressed against him.

“Graduate chemist” came his husky reply. He cleared his throat but it didn’t do much: the fact that he was turned on was so very notorious at that point.

“Would you mind explaining to me what happens to a body during sexual arousal?” Irene spoke while brushing her lips against his collarbone, his neck and finally, his ear. Sherlock suppressed a shudder when he felt her hot breath so close.  
He cleared his throat again, in vain. However, Sherlock could never resist to an opportunity to show off.

“Neurotransmitters such as acetylcholine and dopamine, both endorphins that have a similar chemical structure to morphine, produce feelings of euphoria and pleasure, which also have a calming effect, filling the body with a sense of well-being and relaxation, also making it feel dizzy and drowsy. Norepinephrine generates exhilaration and increased energy by giving the body a shot of natural adrenaline, causing heart racing, blood pressure soaring, genital responses and hormonal changes. I could go on but at this point I think you get the idea.” Sherlock spoke very fast, regaining a little bit of his arrogance when he saw how fascinated she was.

“God, if you keep talking like that I’ll rip your clothes off and I’ll have you against the wall,” Irene purred against his lips, and for the first time, he smirked. 

With narrowed eyes, she outlined the contour of his mouth using two fingers. 

“I bet you can perform wonders with these lips.” The tone of her voice ever so smooth and tempting. “But first, let’s find out what you like, shall we?”

Irene fisted her hand in his hair and pulled him towards her. Sherlock was quite taller than her, so she had to look up to his face all the time, and stand on her tiptoes if she wanted to kiss him.

“Is that your thing?” he asked, inches away from her mouth. “You think you can discover what people like?”

“Well, normally they tell me, my clients. But when they don’t…” The Woman made a pause to lick his ear, very slowly, “…I have fun figuring it out.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together, trying to contain a moan. This woman would be the death of him. He couldn’t beat her in her territory: sex was her game and she was winning. His mind had entered a state of rational numbness that he had never experienced before, and all he could think of was Irene Adler. Without any makeup on and her hair down, she was even more captivating in her raw beauty, and everything about her was taking over him: her intense and ardent gazing that she never broke, the enchanting and seductive sound of her voice, her hot breath, the soft skin of her hands and fingertips, her wet lips and tongue gently stroking his neck…

Without letting go of his hair, Irene pulled him closer. She couldn’t resist another second without kissing this man: at first, he grunted and turned his head, but Sherlock didn’t fight for too long. Irene moaned in his mouth, while she kissed him eagerly. Although he didn’t kiss her back, Sherlock left his lips soft and yielding, surrendering to The Woman’s will. After a few seconds, he closed his eyes. The kiss quickly turned rough and needy, her mouth wide open and her skillful tongue stroking his. With their lips still all over each other’s, Irene grabbed him by the nape with both hands and turned around, then pushing him to the ends of the bed. Sherlock landed sitting down, and she gave him a moment to pull himself together, since he was a panting mess trying to catch his breath.

Never looking away from him, Irene began taking off her clothes, relishing every little expression on Sherlock’s face while she did so. Lastly, she removed her shoes, ending up in just her black lingerie. Irene smiled at him whilst she stroked her body, wiggling her hips alluringly. When she took a step in his direction, he gulped and breathed heavily.

“Everything alright, Mr. Holmes?” she asked amused, arching her eyebrows. “You’re very quiet.”

“I’m fine” he heard himself answer from far away. Sherlock was too dumbfounded to speak properly. Since they had started kissing, all he could hear in his head was the tune he had composed for her; it began low and faint, but as she stripped off her clothes, the melody became deafening. 

Irene walked towards him until she was standing between his spread legs, just like when they met, except that back then she was completely naked. She grabbed Sherlock by the jaw and forced him to look up. His stare was fierce, but the rest of his expression seemed unaltered. With one knee on the bed, she teased his mouth and then grabbed his hands. Sherlock’s heart was thundering in his chest and his mouth got dry when The Woman guided him to her breasts. They were hot, and Irene shifted his hands so he could feel her hard nipples through the bra’s smooth fabric.

“Let’s see if you remember my measurements,” she defied him, smiling.

Sherlock’s skin was burning, and his head was spinning and racing almost uncontrollably. His mind palace had been hacked by Irene Adler, but with the last bit of mental clarity that was left on him, he accepted the challenge.

“Thirty two…” he began with her chest, his voice deep and hoarse. With her hands still grabbing his, she let them slide down to her waist. “Twenty four…” Sherlock continued, already overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on her creamy smooth skin. Irene bit her lip and tightened the grip on his hands before letting them reach her buttocks. 

“Mmm…” she couldn’t help but moan when his hands were on her arse. 

“Thirty four.” Sherlock finished and looked up at her: the feline expression on her face made his cock twitch in his pants. They felt so painfully tight by that time. However, he decided to conduct a little experiment, because he was a man of science after all, wasn’t he? Paying extreme attention to her face, Sherlock squeezed her butt cheeks; a wolfish smile adorned his lips when he felt Irene’s entire body flinch as she moaned one more time. She never saw it coming, since Sherlock had never touched her before, not by his own.

Irene buried her hands in his hair and pulled his head back.

“So that’s what you like, isn’t it?” she spoke against his exposed throat and then moved to his ear, “…naughty boy.”

Following on, she licked his lips and continued with his neck, filling it with wet-open mouth kisses. Her velvety and avid tongue was leaving hot trails of saliva all over his throat, making his aching cock throb with need. Irene began unbuttoning his shirt, while she kissed and licked every inch of skin that became visible as she went along. She was kneeling down between his legs when she reached the last button. Irene shifted up a bit just to tease his nipple as she looked up at him. Sherlock became very still while she finished taking off his shirt. Then she took a moment to contemplate him, and her eyes quickly fell to the bulge in his pants. Irene began stroking her way up the insides of his thighs, very slowly but firmly, until her hands were almost touching his cock. 

“Do you pleasure yourself, Mr. Holmes?” she asked, unexpectedly, while unbuttoning his pants and pulling down the zipper. “Because I do, quite often actually, helps me to sleep. One night I was having trouble sleeping… I turned on the telly and there you were, on Crimewatch, being all brainy and sexy. I’ll tell you something, detective, that night… I slept like a baby.”

The image was so clear and vivid in his mind that Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath for a few seconds. He could picture her, lying in her bed, wearing nothing but her battle dress, while she stroke herself thinking about him. And the fact that she kept calling him “detective”… this woman was driving him insane. By the time he opened his eyes, Irene had already pulled down his pants and was now fondling his swollen erection over his briefs. Her long, red nails skimmed across his shaft, causing him to grunt.

“I have to confess that I’ve fantasized about this in many occasions, although in almost every scenario you were handcuffed and blindfolded with that blue scarf of yours.” She looked up at him and smirked. Without breaking their intense gazing, Irene hooked her fingers in the waistband of his briefs, but before pulling them down, she spoke once more: “You do know what’s coming, don’t you?”

Heat filled his cheeks and Sherlock took a deep breath; he hated being so obviously vulnerable and submissive but he couldn’t help it, she had bewitched him with her overflowing sensuality and her cleverness. However, he tried desperately to hold on to his arrogance.

“Oh, I don’t know, are you gonna keep on talking?” he dared her. Irene grinned as she bit her lip, and replied by pulling his boxer briefs all the way down to his knees. And there he was, almost completely naked apart from his rolled down pants and his combat boots –part of the Arabian disguise. Her eyes traveled throughout his body and ended up on that swollen, almost begging cock. The head was a bright shade of pink and the tip was glistening with precum.

“Ah, it appears that you have been enjoying yourself a little bit too much, haven’t you?” Irene teased him, referring to the pre-ejaculate.

“Not so long ago, a wicked woman told me that ‘no such thing is too much’,” he struck back. Sherlock was trying hard to play it cool, but having her kneeling down between his legs and so close to his boner was getting too overwhelming.

The Woman grinned as she flipped her dark chocolate hair to one side, so that it wouldn’t bother her while she did her task. So confident and cocky, her consulting detective, “Mr. Punchline” as John Watson had once described him. She would make him shut up. 

Without preamble, Irene took him in her mouth and quickly let it pop out, sucking so hard that her cheeks became hollow. Immediately after she began jerking him off, slowly. Sherlock flinched and gasped loudly when he felt the warmth and wetness of her mouth and tongue, wrapping him up only for a blissful second. The sound he made reminded her of the time she had drugged him with a syringe: a short, surprised kind of moan. Irene let the tip of her tongue glide up his shaft, then sucking only the head, eagerly tasting his precum. She took him deeper this time, her tongue circling his soft and hot skin when she reached the tip once more. Sherlock was hard as a rock, and Irene noticed how tense he was because of his clenched jaw and the fact that he was tightly gripping the cover of the bed with both hands. He mumbled something but she ignored it and kept going, jacking him off with one hand and caressing his chest with the other. She kept blowing him like that for a little while, leisurely taking him deeper and deeper, until her nose was brushing his coarse hair. Irene twisted his nipple and he groaned as his head fell back.

“Stop… stop,” he pleaded, panting hard. Luckily for Sherlock, she obeyed. Just this once, and only because Irene didn’t wanted him to come so soon.

“So close already, detective?” she couldn’t help but ask, mockingly. Next, she shifted up and grabbed him by the jaw for a deep kiss. He still didn’t kiss her back, but Sherlock wasn’t trying to resist like before.

Irene kneeled down once more and began untying the laces of his combat boots. After she was done removing his pants and briefs, she ran her nails along his long, muscular legs, leaving goosebumps on his skin. She had had a lot of fun taking off his clothes, but it couldn’t compare to the fun she was about to have with him naked.  
Standing before him again, she unhooked her bra with her eyes fixated on his. Irene let it fall to the floor and then guided his hands to her breasts once again, except that this time it was skin against skin. She began to rub and massage her own breasts using his hands, until Sherlock lightly squeezed her nipples between his fingers, causing her to whimper out of pleasure. He did it again and she instantly felt more heat and wetness gathering between her legs. The need for him was strong, and Irene couldn’t recall the last time she had felt that for a man, or even for a woman. Another wave of burning desire rushed through her and The Woman fisted her hands on his curls, leading him directly to her pink and hard nipple. Sherlock understood.

“Look at me,” she ordered him, her voice a little affected, almost moaning. 

He did. Sherlock looked up at her as he sucked, gently at first, her soft and swollen nipple. When she groaned as she licked her lips, he repeated it with her other breast, this time flicking his tongue over the hard little nub to test her reaction. It drove her wild, and he continued to lick and suck on her mounds as she ruffled his hair and pulled him even closer. She let him pleasure her like that for several minutes, their eyes locked together the whole time, until Irene’s drenched pussy begged for more.

“Show me what else you can do with that beautiful mouth of yours,” she said, as she pushed him away. This time, there was no need for Irene to guide his hands: just one look down to her black panties, and Sherlock knew what she wanted.

His musician fingers curled around the elastic of her knickers, on both sides. The grip was firm, almost hard. Sherlock’s heart was racing, beating so fast it was rumbling on his ribcage: everything was new and fascinating. The Woman was fascinating to him. He flashed her another fierce glance and Irene had to fight the impulse of grabbing his hands and pulling down her underwear right then.  
Leisurely, Sherlock began rolling her knickers down her thighs, her knees, her calves, until she had to lift her feet one at the time to step out of them. Instead of tossing it to the floor right away, he held the silken cloth in his hand. A sudden jolt of carnal passion struck him and his cock was almost aching when he felt that the fabric was damp: she was so wet and ready for him. 

Their intense gazing ensued as he sank onto his knees, wanting to taste her more than anything else. Irene lifted her foot and placed it on the edge of the bed, granting him full access to her most intimate nook. He settled one of his large hands under her raised thigh and the other one on her hip, as he drew near her, the mere sight and the scent already driving him insane. Sherlock could barely recognize himself then, being so drunk in lust that he couldn’t think straight. A part of him that had been lethargic for so long was taking over his mind, like a wolfish hunger needing to be satiated. 

His parted lips laid on her pubic mound, and began a slow descent, always looking up at her, until they reached her clit and Irene’s eyelids fluttered close. She had to place her hands on his head not to lose balance. However, she forced herself to keep her eyes open to relish on the spectacle of having Sherlock Holmes about to eat her out.  
When his tongue finally stroked her soft and sensitive flesh, she mewled and Sherlock quickly removed his hand from her hip to spread her lips mildly. Her wet folds made an obscene sound when he touched them. It turned him on so fucking bad that it took all of his self-control not to eat, suck and nib her pussy roughly. Sherlock exhaled loudly through his nose to cool down a bit; he would be gentle… unless she asked him not to. So his tongue began circling her soft little button, applying as little pressure as possible, unsure of what her liking really was. Irene immediately encouraged him with low and sweet little moans, which led him to the edge once more. He began sucking on her clit, unaware of the tight grip that he had on her thighs, getting off on her facial expressions and making slurp noises when he licked and sucked her soaking slit. She was looking down at him with narrowed eyes, so high from all the pleasure that his hot mouth was giving her, groaning loudly as she stroked his curls.

“Oh, God, if you keep going you’re gonna make me come all over your face,” she warned him. His cock throbbed with that last sentence as Sherlock quickly increased the rhythm of his kisses, lapping and sucking her cunt, faintly humming while he did so. He really was enjoying it so very much. “Is that what you want?” Irene smiled as she caressed his cheekbones.

He answered her by grabbing her raised thigh and spreading it wider, only to firmly suck on her sweet spot as he flicked his tongue over it rapidly. Her in crescendo whimpers told him that Irene was very close, so he gave it all: his lips, his nose, his jaw. The orgasm hit her like the sweetest of bullets, filling her with heavenly bliss as he rubbed his face on her pussy, lengthening her ecstasy and making her squeal when it was already over.

Dizzy and a little trembling, Irene searched for support on his shoulders, but Sherlock stood up nimbly in one elegant and fluid move, a massive cocky grin on his lips. His hands steadied her as she blindly reached his mouth for a kiss, savoring her intimate flavor. 

“You’re so good… how can you be so good?” Irene panted in between kisses, as she stroke his nape with both hands. Not only did he kiss her back this time, but Sherlock also embraced her, wrapping her in his arms as his hands caressed her back.

His kisses were a little harsh, his lips closing over hers firmly, making wet noises from time to time. Irene welcomed them thirstily, showering him with strokes and fondles, delighting in the feeling of being so close to each other, with her breasts tightly pressed against his chest. One of her hands buried itself in his hair, leading him to her neck. Sherlock pleased her with slow, fervent, soaking kisses that caused Irene to throw her head back, offering her throat for him to suck, lick and nib. Suddenly she became aware of his solid manhood nudging her belly. Her hand curled around his shaft and he gasped; she tightened the grip a little and felt the blood pumping through his veins, throbbing, imploring.

“Ready when you are,” Sherlock spoke into her ear, his voice so velvety and deep.

She smiled, as she got closer to his face, brushing her nose against his.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” Irene asked in the most enticing way she could. 

He exhaled heavily through his nose and nodded.

“Well now, what are you waiting for?” She provoked him and his reaction was immediate. 

Not even a second later Sherlock caught her lips, kissing her so hungrily that it seemed like he wanted to eat her; his hands were everywhere, dressing her up with caresses and squeezes in the right places. Irene did her best to keep up with his unleashed passion, gripping and gently tugging on his hair as she returned his urgent kisses.  
She pulled him away from her by firmly pressing against his chest with both hands. That way she made him sat on the bed once again. Sherlock’s logical and cold side was completely numbed by that time, desire burning inside of him like a wildfire: he wanted her, he craved her. When she finally straddled him, he let out a rumbling moan as his hands settled on her waist to bring her closer. Her hot, wet folds touched his cock and almost instantaneously, he realized. 

“I don’t…” he made a pause to clear his throat, since his voice was sounding hoarse and even more low-pitched than usual, “…I don’t have a prophylactic.”

Her soft laugh disconcerted Sherlock, and he frowned in confusion. 

“Easy there with the dirty talking!” She teased him, and then placed a damp kiss on his lips. “Don’t worry, lover boy, I take the pill.”

Irene began rubbing against him, and quickly his cock was soaked on her juices. One of her hands was cupping his cheek and the other was buried in his soft curls. Sherlock kept his eyes on hers, as his hands accompanied the rolling of her delicious hips. Her wet and warm entrance was gliding forward and backwards on his shaft, the feeling being so pleasurable for both of them that she stopped, afraid that he might come.  
She tried to get up and found the resistance of his hands on her waist, pulling her back towards him. How bad he wanted her. Irene grinned as she took one of his hands and led it to her mouth. Ever so gently did she kissed and licked his fingertips, staring at his lustful expression: his eyes were sparkling with desire, his cheeks were flushed and his lips were parted.

“Please…” he murmured, without even realizing that he was begging for mercy.

“Lay back.”

Sherlock did as he was told. She really was a dominatrix, ordering him around all the time. He was lying on his back, his whole body on the bed now, as she began to crawl on the mattress towards him. Her movements were slow, graceful, and sensual… in a feline sort of way. So were her eyes, devouring him as she straddled him again. She wanted to ride him until his eyes rolled into the back of his head, but teasing him was so much fun…

Her hand grabbed his cock and she lifted herself as for to take him in, but she froze into position.

“Do you want it?” she asked, with a mischievous smile on her lips.

He nodded. 

“Tell me,” Irene commanded him as she held him tighter.

Sherlock grunted and shifted impatiently, the feeling of her hand on his cock and the sight of The Woman on top of him being too much to handle. 

“Yes,” he said, as his hands traveled up her thighs to end up on her arse. He knew that she liked that.

If it had been someone else, she would have keep playing and fooling around, but every inch of her body was screaming for his touch, for his warmth, for him. She wanted him inside of her or she would run mad.  
Without letting go of his shaft, Irene guided him to her entrance, and as soon as she felt the nudging of his head, she took him in. Inch by inch did he slid inside of her, effortlessly, smoothly, until all his length was in and they both moaned. She had not even started to move and it already felt so good: his hard, throbbing cock stretching her soaking channel.  
Since she didn’t move right away, Sherlock became anxious and instinctively pumped his hips upwards, with his hands on her waist to get a better hold of her. She stilled him by dropping all of her weight on his hips; as a result, he buried himself even deeper inside of her. He whimpered in a mix of pleasure and frustration, eyes wide shut as well as his lips, tightly pressed together. It seemed like he was in pain, trying to fight against the yearning that he felt for her.

“Hush now…” she soothed him, “we’re going to take it slow.”

“I don’t want to take it slow.”

Irene smiled as she combed her fingers through her hair, gently rolling her hips. 

“Yes, you do. And you better brace yourself, dear, because I’m planning to have you all night long.” 

Those words struck him like a double-edged sword: every cell in his body was on fire, boiling with tortuous lechery, his thoughts narrowed to this insanely lascivious woman; but on the other hand, he relaxed a bit, knowing that they had many hours together ahead.  
Her maddening hips kept rolling, riding him very slowly, as she let out the most melodious, delighting noises. His hands moved upwards to cup her breasts and Sherlock smirked when she increased her rhythm: it was both fun and arousing to watch her lose herself, dropping her bad-girl-dominatrix act for a bit and showing her true face. As she rode him faster, her buttocks began to clash against his thighs, making slap sounds that, in combination with her heavenly moans, drove him insane in a matter of seconds. He found himself moaning as well, so lost in pleasure that he didn’t feel like himself anymore, firmly and almost roughly grabbing her waist as he pumped his hips upwards to meet her movements, thrusting into her sweet, warm and soaking pussy. It felt so fucking good, his thickness sliding in and out of her, impaling her, claiming her, making her moan and scream out of pure delight. With this last thought, he let out a guttural groan: having him inside of her was causing her to enjoy herself like that. He was responsible for her pleasure.  
When their lovemaking turned into frantic fucking, Irene was screaming, her nails skimming along his chest, her skin glittering due to a thin layer of sweat that made her look glorious. She was riding him so hard that his head was slightly bouncing on the pillow, as lost in pleasure as she was, and Irene realized that she wanted to watch him come more than anything else. His grip on her waist tightened even more while she fucked him as fast and as hard as she could, thinking about what his face would look like when he came, the feeling of his hot load as he emptied himself inside of her…

“Oh my God, yes, Sherlock!” she moaned.

Somehow, he understood that she was extremely close, so he sat up and as he cupped one of her breasts with one hand and steadied her back with the other, Sherlock captured her lips. The kiss was intended to be deep and passionate, but it turned out rather faltering and shaky because of her wild, rolling hips, fucking him mercilessly as their hot, ragged breaths clashed as well as their groans. He squeezed her nipple as he sucked on her neck, her lovely noises escalated…

“Yes…” he couldn’t help but pant into her ear, and that was all it took for her to let go and come so intensely that she saw white lights, celestial pleasure traveling all over her body as she fell apart in his arms, shaking. 

A short silence followed her climax, and he just sat there, holding her while she overcame the last waves of her orgasm. She opened her eyes and focused him, only to close them again as she practically ate his mouth with an ardent kiss.

“Come on…” Irene said and she got up, causing him to slip out of her. Those few seconds felt like agony to Sherlock.

His mouth got dry and his panting became loud when she dropped to all fours, her back beautifully arched so that her arse was lifted for him, all for him. How atypical of herself it was to give in like that, to hand herself to him completely. These thoughts were swirling around in his head as Sherlock repositioned himself to take her. 

“I had you, so now you can have me,” she spoke in a sexy, creamy voice. 

With one hand on her hip, he used the other to steer his cock to her pinkish, swollen slit. As soon as the head started to enter, Irene grabbed his shaft and slammed it into herself. A deep, rumbling moan escaped him and she managed to laugh and groan at the same time. He settled both of his hands on her narrow waist as he took a deep breath. The sight and the sensation were so damn arousing that he felt like it wouldn’t take him long.

“Fuck me, Sherlock. Fuck me as fast and as hard as you want,” she ordered him, looking back so she could see his expression, “fuck me until you come inside me.”

Evil. This woman was nothing but an evil little minx, pushing his buttons only to drive him insane. Gasping and moaning loudly, deeply, he began thrusting into her tight, wet pussy, relishing on the sounds of his pelvis clashing against her ass and her exquisite mewls, those sweet noises coming out of her mouth. It was all like an obscene orchestra, pushing him closer and closer to the edge, making his head spin with lust as he pushed in and out of her rapidly, deeply, almost brutally.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked hoarsely, in between gasps, without stopping.

“No, no, don’t stop, please…” Irene whimpered and he noticed how hard she was gripping the sheet of the bed, “please, don’t stop.”

When hearing that moaning plead, he lost himself into an untamed, almost primitive race towards his release, rutting her roughly, in a beastly way, enjoying her pain-like noises now that he knew that she liked it and that she was okay. His low-pitched cries culminated with a rumbling, throaty scream as Sherlock poured out his load in her cunt, coming gloriously, profoundly, violently, his head falling backwards for a few seconds, his hips jerking and his swollen cock pulsating in exhaustion.

“Oh God…” he exhaled, completely worn out, as he collapsed onto the mattress.

The aftertaste of his climax was still lingering on while he laid on his back, panting, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. Sherlock felt utterly relaxed and soft, rather like boneless, his mind unusually placid and untroubled. Nicotine patches couldn’t do this trick. She was lying on her belly, her lovely arse still showing, and she got closer to push back his hair as a gentle caress. He opened his eyes to look at her.

“Thank you for a delicious dinner,” Irene joked, still stroking his face.

“Weren’t you just thanking me for saving your life?” he replied and she cracked up.

“Well… I’m feeling very grateful tonight.”

“Yeah, I can see that…” Sherlock turned his head so he could get a better look at her; she was glowing with a wide smile, a genuine one, not like the many other roguish grins that she had flashed him before. Lying there next to him, she looked fragile, vulnerable.

Suddenly, he could see her, really see her: when she let her guard down, Sherlock’s cold readings kicked in and he deduced her past in a few seconds: 

Only child – Divorced – Opera singer – Bisexual – Brokenhearted – Former Catholic – Runaway – Sentimental 

“What?” she interrupted him, the smile still very present on her lips.

“Hm?” Sherlock had been too focused scanning her a moment ago, so he didn’t understand.

“What is it? You were staring at me with a funny face.” 

Her fingers began playing with his fair-haired chest. Being able to touch him whenever she pleased felt so good, so intimate, that Irene decided to go further and placed a slow, wet kiss on his lips.

“You always do that, don’t you?” she asked, her inquisitive eyes twinkling, “Drift away, I mean. I remember when we were at Baker Street alone, you went silent for hours. Then, out of the blue, you started talking about Coventry.”

Sherlock remembered that, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he just kept observing her, trying to learn more about this woman, reconstructing her life story with the stray pieces of information that he had found. 

“Never had I felt so drawn to a man before…” Irene just kept recalling that moment, her hand combing through his hair, outlining his jaw, “…you were so sexy without even trying.”

“Young,” he said, out of nowhere. “When you got married, you were very young, weren’t you?”

Irene blinked a few times, perplexed. The hand stroking his face stilled. How on Earth had he figured that out? She had absolutely no clue. Nevertheless, Irene smiled again: it was Sherlock Holmes, of course he could figure that out. 

“I forgot you were that good,” she purred close to his face. Then, she laid on her side, facing him, and sighed. “In my senior year of high school, I used to sing in the church’s choir… oh, I forgot to mention, it was a…”

“Catholic school, obviously,” he interrupted her and Irene scolded him, playfully, with her eyes.

“I hated it. The songs, the people, my classmates, even my parents… I just wanted to escape all that. I did enjoy the singing, though… and that’s when Godfrey comes in. He was a grown man, very charming, not to mention handsome. I was only seventeen, you can imagine… he came to congratulate me for my singing and I was smitten with him right away. It turned out that the man worked in a theatre, on The Strand, and he wanted me to perform in one of the upcoming plays. My parents wouldn’t allow it, of course, so I ran away with him like the brainless schoolgirl that I was.”

Irene snorted as she contemplated her past choices in retrospective, then she looked at him again.

“That’s when I started to misbehave and my life just became a huge mess,” she finished.

“What happened to him?” he asked.

“I don’t know and I don’t want to know,” she answered cuttingly and then kneeled on the bed, always facing him, “but that’s enough about me, let’s talk about you, now tell me: is it true?”

“What?”

She smiled without showing her teeth.

“Was I really your first?” she finally asked.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he slightly tilted his head, pretending to be puzzled.

“My first what?”

One of her hands settled on his chest to wonder down his stomach; she just couldn’t get enough of him.

“Oh, Sherlock dear, will you ever run out of evasive questions?” she asked, amused, her nails skimming over his pelvis in such a feathery way that it made him tingle.

He hummed, pleased by the sensation, his body reacting to her touch so quickly that it almost made him angry.

“Please, tell me, I need to know…” Irene insisted.

“What does that matter?” he exhaled, feeling annoyed and aroused at the same time.

At that moment, she realized it was practically pointless to keep asking, and the sight of his swelling virility was turning her on again.

“You’re impossible,” she told him before giving him a slow, sensual kiss. Her tongue stroked his and that was all it took for him to grow fully hard in a matter of seconds. “There’s still something pending that I want to do with you… well, actually, to you.”

“And that is…?” he asked, already feeling his primal, wolfish side taking over.

“I’m dying to watch you come,” Irene replied, in her huntress voice, “get up, join me in the shower.”

Sherlock obeyed almost instantly, feeling rested and reloaded, ready for more. She took him by the hand and led him to the bathroom; it wasn’t a fancy one, but the shower seemed decent –not that neither of them cared. Irene entered first, and for several seconds he just stood there, admiring the lovely shapeliness of the female anatomy in its entire splendor. She was soaking wet under the running water, rubbing and fondling herself, her drenched hair giving her the resemblance of a mermaid: a mouth-watering view, without a doubt. 

“What are you doing standing there? Come over here!” she called him, with the most alluring and cheeky smile on her face.

“I’m observing,” he replied as he went in with her under the water stream.

“And do you like what you see?” Irene enticed him as she seized his face with both hands, the mix of his expression and his soaking, naked body resulting in heat and wetness pooling between her legs.

“Seeing and observing, Miss Adler, are not the same thing,” he stated in his low, velvety voice. 

“How so?” she asked, pushing back his wet hair off his forehead and slightly pressing herself against him.

“Well, normally you see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen yourself devoid of clothes.”

“And not only to take baths…” Irene joked, rubbing the soap in between her hands to make foam.

“So you could say that you know your body very well, isn’t that right?” he continued with his explanation as he slightly brushed his fingers along her silhouette. 

She sighed at the feeling of his touch: that, in combination with his brainy exposition was driving her insane.

“Yes…” she replied, looking him deeply in the eyes.

“Then how many moles are on your skin?” 

Irene smiled, completely under his spell, delighted by the fact that he was seducing her for a change. And he was so good…

“I don’t know.”

“Quite so… you have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just my point,” Sherlock clarified, and then he leisurely began to touch all of her moles, one by one. “Now, I know that there are seventeen of them, because I have both seen and observed.”

“I am seriously fighting the urge to eat you up right now…,” she said in a shaky voice.

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
